


Treasure

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 4+1+1 fic, Discorporation (Good Omens), I know that's not a thing, M/M, Other, but I can't follow a format to save my life apparently, recent past character deaths, referenced past character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Crowley comes back from an unfortunate discorporation to find Aziraphale guarding a mysterious treasure.Or, four times Crowley didn't know what Aziraphale was guarding, one time he found out, and one time Aziraphale kept his treasure safe.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 157





	Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read [Babel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22166185), you might like to read that before the second section of this. It should stand without it, though.
> 
> Also, TW: discorporation by treefall, discorporation by lightning strike, discorporation by crocodile, discorporation by stoning. In case any of those specifically are a problem for you.
> 
> Enjoy!

Crowley returned to Earth in more or less the same area where he was discorporated, hoping he could pick up Aziraphale's trail. His last memory of Earth was the angel's horrified face as a long shadow loomed over him, and then he'd woken up in Hell.

It wasn't that he wanted to reassure Aziraphale, of course. It was just a matter of intelligence gathering, finding out what exactly had happened that day. And if he had to track the angel halfway across the world for answers, he would.

As it turned out, he didn't have to. Aziraphale was sitting in a little hut on the edge of the same forest where their paths had crossed prior to the discorporation, and he looked up as Crowley stuck his head through the doorway.

"I'm afraid the treasure house is cl- oh, good _Lord_. Crowley!" He leapt up and threw his arms around the demon in a rather exuberant interpretation of the way humans were greeting each other recently. "You're real, you're really back."

"Yeah. Should have come back sooner, maybe. Treasure house, hm?"

"Oh. Yes, well, that's what people call it, and it's stuck. And all this gold and such, the rare seashells, the good statuary - it's very useful as a last line of defence. I didn't want anyone digging up the most precious thing in here."

"You've not buried the Ark of the Covenant, angel? I thought they were still carrying that everywhere with them, that bunch with the trumpets."

Aziraphale blushed - perhaps too embarrassed to admit that he'd taken something so precious and hidden it just because the trumpets were giving him a headache - and cunningly changed the subject while Crowley was distracted by memorising the sight of him in that new hue.

"So, you got recorporated, then. How was it? The whole, ah, process? Not too strenuous, I hope."

"Could have been worse. Absolute _mountain_ of paperwork, though, and I had to make something up about how it happened, because I've got no idea. Can you shed any light?"

"Oh. Oh, yes. I'm afraid a tree fell on you. I've had a word with the local humans, and now they've agreed to shout something before they cut them down."

"Right. Watch out for falling trees. Got it." Crowley grimaced. "So what are these? Guard snakes?" They were everywhere; snakes of every size and sort, nosing around between statues and seashells and golden objects.

"Oh. No, they just… sort of… appeared here. After the burial, they just came. It's like they were drawn to it."

"To your treasure?" Crowley leans into his snake side for a moment, tries to find the attraction of whatever it is Aziraphale has buried. "That's weird. I'm not getting anything from it."

"Oh. Oh, well, good. That would be quite annoying for you, I imagine."

"Yeah." He wants to ask what it is, what's so precious that Aziraphale has buried it and heaped shiny temptations atop it to distract thieves, but if Aziraphale hasn't told him yet it's probably just something Holy and boring. "These humans, the tree-cutters. Do they have anything interesting going on?"

Aziraphale beamed, apparently content to abandon his treasure at the slightest temptation. "Oh, yes. Come with me, I'll introduce you over lunch."

* * *

Aziraphale was looking up at the tower when the lightning struck it, and somehow he just _knew_. The minuscule speck that soared in a sickening arc before plummeting could have been anything - a brick, a tool, a human. But he knew it wasn't, knew with a hideous certainty that it was Crowley's corporation, that if he'd still been alive in it he would have flung out his wings.

He was barely aware of the tower falling, of humanity being scattered to the winds; all he could focus on was finding where that speck had landed.

Crowley, when he found him - his _corporation,_ nothing more, Aziraphale reminded himself crossly, the empty shell of his _deadly enemy_ \- looked peaceful. Oh, he was a mess - _the body_ was a mess - flaming hair sticking to swiftly-congealing blood and limbs twisted at disconcerting angles, but that face Aziraphale _definitely hated_ was serene and free of care for the first time since… Well, Aziraphale didn't remember the last time he'd seen Crowley's face look so untroubled. Certainly not when he was last discorporated; there'd been hardly anything recognisable left to bury.

Now, by the ruins of Babel, Aziraphale gathered the fallen demon into his arms, moving him nearer to the remnants of the tower, out of the sun. Then he shuffled some stones around, miracled himself a digging implement, and set to work.

When Crowley reappeared, hale and hearty in his new body and once again talking about treasure for some reason, Aziraphale was still sitting by the grave. This time, he _told_ Crowley it was a body he'd buried, not treasure, but Crowley didn't seem to appreciate the gesture. Well, that was demons for you. With Crowley back, Aziraphale no longer felt he had to sit by the grave; he taught Crowley what he could of the new human languages that had sprung up, and then they went their separate ways.

* * *

“Oh, that’s impressive. What is it?”

“They’re calling it a Sphinx,” Aziraphale told her, as if he wasn’t even surprised that Crowley had come up behind him. “Between you and me, I think it’s likely to be _The_ Sphinx. They had such a lot of trouble making it, you know.”

“Oh. Well, it looks great.” She turned her attention from the horizon and gestured to the smaller statue Aziraphale had been planting flowers at the foot of. “What’s this one?”

“This?” Aziraphale straightened up and looked into the eyes of the eight-foot tall stone snake as if he’d never seen it before. “Oh, it’s a treasure guardian, I suppose.”

“A treasure guardian.” Crowley frowned. “Are snakes good guardians?”

“Oh. Er, well, in some parts of the world, they have these long scaly things called dragons, and they guard things.” The angel shrugged. “I’ve always found snakes to be good and loyal guardians.”

“Except that one time a snake ruined your very important guard duty,” Crowley pointed out, “so, what’s it guarding this time? Tell me it’s not a bunch of mouldy old bones this time.”

“Crowley! Show some respect-”

“I’m a demon, I don’t have to show respect.” But she did feel a little bad about it. Whoever Aziraphale had taken pains to bury, back in Babel, he had obviously cared a great deal about them. And Crowley cared about Aziraphale. “It’s not, is it? A grave?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“Your friends have got to start being more careful,” Crowley told him, and Aziraphale snorted.

“Yes. Yes, they have.” He sighed. “So, are you going to tell me what exactly you thought you were doing?”

Crowley considered pretending not to know what Aziraphale was talking about, but it’s not as if she doesn’t remember the angel arriving in town just as Crowley had been on her way to the river with a pile of laundry. She’d been working as a midwife among the poor, and the last few weeks before her discorporation had been very busy; she’d hardly had a chance to attend to her own household affairs. She had, perhaps, been showing off a little as she left her laundry on the nearest riverbank - not one of the busier spots - and began to strip down to her underclothes to bathe. She’d closed her eyes, conscious of the angel’s eyes on her, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face - and then, all of a sudden, something had clamped its jaws around her leg. She’d opened her eyes as she was pulled into the river and found herself facing the toothy end of a Nile crocodile.

“Get off! Where’s the honour among reptiles?” But she’d known, as she disappeared under the water, that it was discorporation time. There was no way she was getting out of it; besides, her leg hurt like Heaven and another creature had just chomped down on her torso, breaking at least two ribs. She inhaled deeply, silt and water flooding her lungs, hoping to speed up the process as more crocodiles joined the frenzy. And then, just as her vision began to fade, she'd felt a Holy power commanding her to _let go_. Commanding all the reptiles to let go.

Crowley had let go.

“I was doing laundry,” she told him, “and then I wanted to bathe.”

“In the most crocodile-ridden part of the river?”

“I can handle crocodiles.”

“Oh, clearly. Of course you can. That’s why you almost got eaten alive, is it?”

“Well, at least I _didn’t_. I died before they could get started. I’m chalking that up as a win.”

Aziraphale sighed heavily, as if she was missing something very obvious, but he didn’t press the issue.

“Well, it’s been thirty years. The settlements around here have changed a great deal; I’m sure you have no idea where to get a decent drink around here these days. Let me give you the tour.” And he strode away from the great stone snake, Crowley trailing in his wake.

* * *

Aziraphale felt as though he should probably have been more surprised to arrive in a new village and find that Crowley had already arrived ahead of him. He should _definitely_ have been more surprised that the demon had already managed to get himself stoned to death by the time he arrived. There was no question of dispensing blessings, here, at least not yet; Aziraphale was usually a forgiving sort of angel, but he had been rather looking forward to running into his occult counterpart. It had been a while, and Crowley owed him a drink. More importantly, he owed him an evening of conversation. Conversation that his empty corporation, though barely cold, couldn’t give him.

It was a simple enough miracle to turn everyone else’s attention from the body, and then Aziraphale gathered Crowley’s corporation into his arms and walked out of the village, on and on until he found a clear patch of ground. Another miracle removed every stone, however large or small, from the dirt - Crowley had suffered enough stones in the last hour or so - and piled them up at the side of the plot. Then Aziraphale miracled up a shovel and began to dig, the human way, until he had a respectable-looking grave. He laid the empty shell of Crowley in it, gave him a bunch of wildflowers to hold, and reluctantly covered the body with dirt again.

He was just putting the finishing touches to the pile of stones that would mark the grave when he heard a voice behind him.

“More treasure, angel?” Aziraphale almost dropped the rock he was holding; he turned and stared in shock at the smiling demon.

“Crowley? I thought- they put you to death!”

“Yeah, I managed to get a rush put on my new corporation so I could pop right back up and scare the life out of them. They’re panicking, back there, you could probably score some Heaven points for calming them down.”

“Let them panic,” Aziraphale grumbled, and Crowley’s face fell.

“Oh, no. This is another grave, isn’t it?” He didn’t answer, but the truth must have been clear on his face. “I’m sorry. If I’d known they were executing somebody you knew, I’d have made more of an effort to-”

“Why didn’t you save yourself, Crowley?” He couldn’t keep the question in any more. The demon seemed surprised, somehow, taken aback.

“Well, I… regulations, really. Humans committing murder is a good thing. Well, a bad thing. I’m not supposed to stop them, even if it’s me they’re killing.”

“There were others killed alongside you.” It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t have had blood on their hands even if Crowley had got away.

“Yeah. Well, saving humans is more your side’s thing.” He flexed his fingers as he said it, as if he’d got a literal rap on the knuckles for forgetting that before now. “Sorry about your friend. You should go and do whatever you have to do. I’ll see you around.”

And he walked away, leaving Aziraphale to stare stupidly after him until he was out of sight.

* * *

Crowley came across Aziraphale sitting on the top of a large mound of earth. He’d seen these before.

“Treasure barrow?” They weren’t primarily for holding treasure, he knew; treasure just tended to be piled up inside as a side-effect. Grave goods.

“It’s a burial mound, as you well know, Crowley.”

The demon grimaced. “Yeah, bad joke. Can I sit?”

“By all means.”

They sat for a few minutes in silence, watching clouds pass overhead, before Crowley’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Is it- are they worth it?” Aziraphale frowned, apparently offended, and Crowley held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m not trying to be rude. I just- you get attached, and then they die, and you always seem so upset… Wouldn’t it be better to just stop befriending the humans?”

“Crowley-” Aziraphale stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry, the _humans?”_

“Yeah, you keep burying them and… and standing guard for goodness knows how long-”

“Crowley, this was never about the humans.” Aziraphale frowned. “Do you mean to say you really never knew?”

“Knew what?” Crowley was lost, or maybe Aziraphale was.

“Crowley, these graves… they’re yours. All of- you’re the only one I’ve ever buried.” Aziraphale spread his hands apologetically. “It seemed… I couldn’t just leave you.”

“My-” Suddenly, a lot of things began to make sense. “ _My_ graves.”

“Perhaps it’s silly,” Aziraphale admitted, “I know you’re not there, it’s just an empty corporation, but… well, it just doesn’t seem right that nobody should tend to it.”

“Angel-” The breath caught in his throat. “Angel, you- I didn’t know you cared-”

“I don’t _care-_ ” Aziraphale looked almost frightened, and definitely offended. “I simply- that is- well, imagine if your corporation and its demonic properties fell into the wrong hands!”

“Right, yeah, of course. Sorry.” Crowley held his hands up again, and Aziraphale seemed to relax. “Besides, it’s a convenient excuse to bury some treasure.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve got several very important Mediterranean texts on clay tablets under here,” he told him loftily, “wouldn’t do to have the locals going digging.”

“Well, I can’t be the only one buried in a barrow this size,” Crowley teased, “I’m sure there are plenty of bones to guard your hidden treasure.”

He walked away, then, feeling a little odd about standing on his own grave now that he knew what it was, and completely missed Aziraphale’s guilty expression.

* * *

Crowley slammed the door of the Bentley as he got out of it, and had to dart around it sharpish to avoid being flattened by an oncoming double-decker bus. He probably wasn’t expecting to be accosted by a furious angel the moment he reached the pavement, but he was.

“What do you think you’re doing, Crowley? You have to be more careful!”

“Angel, it’s- it’s fine, I’m fine-”

“If you get discorporated now, I don’t think your people are likely to give you a new one-”

“ _My_ people? I thought we were our own people now?”

“Yes, well, our side doesn’t hand out corporations, so you have to be more _careful!_ I thought- I thought-” He fell back, his chest suddenly feeling very tight, and the demon’s arms came around to guide him back into his shop. He was making a scene, he realised distantly, but none of it mattered if Crowley- if Crowley- “Don’t make me bury you again,” he whispered, and any hope that Crowley hadn’t heard him was immediately dashed as the demon wrapped himself around him, comforting and clinging all at once.

“Oh, angel. _Angel._ I’m sorry. I won’t, I promise I won’t.”

Aziraphale pushed him back, gently, just a little, so he could cup his cheek and claim a hungry kiss, a reassurance that Crowley was alive, that he loved Aziraphale, that he knew Aziraphale loved him. That he didn’t believe all the things Aziraphale had said to the contrary, through the centuries.

“I cared,” he murmured, and then realised that didn’t make any sense. “I care,” he corrected, and Crowley seemed to understand.

“Oh, angel.” He kissed him again, gentle, soothing. “I love you, too.”

And Aziraphale’s treasure was safe with him at last.


End file.
